The Forsaken Lady

The nurse's scream pierced my eardrums. Warmth spread between my legs, the scent of disinfectant and blood rushing into my nose."Helen!" Ryan shouted.The examination that followed showed minor bleeding. The fetus was unharmed, but I needed to rest.Kate sneered from the side. "It was just a slap. Stop pretending to be so delicate."After I was discharged, Ryan carried me to the car. When the door opened, the strong scent of Kate's perfume filled the air.A diamond necklace sparkled from an open jewelry box on the passenger seat."Sit in the front," Ryan said as he opened the door.Kate slipped in before I could react, adjusting a down-feather cushion behind her back. "Ryan had this made for my pregnancy back pain. Helen, you don't mind, do you?""Kate," Ryan warned in a low voice.She cradled her belly and frowned. "Don't be harsh with me. You're scaring the baby."Ryan bent down and gently stroked her belly, saying the fetus could sense emotions.Seeing this, I closed the

In the following days, Kate often came to the storage room to humiliate me. She would throw rotten fruit at me, her laughter shrill and piercing.Ryan, on the other hand, rarely showed up. When he did, he always said the same indifferent line. "Helen, do you need anything?" His voice was dull and deliberately distant. "Kate needs to live in a calm environment."I never responded. Silence was my only weapon.I knew I had to contact the outside world. However, the bodyguards were stationed at the top of the stairs, and the windows were sealed shut.My only hope rested in the person who, at that moment, seemed less than likely to help me.Kate.She would never pass up an opportunity to demean me.She had a housekeeper bring in a plate of rotten grapes one day. Picking one off, she tossed it at my face, looking down at me from above."Oh, look who it is. It's Mrs. Hurst," she mocked, deliberately raising her voice. "How's life in the storage room? Does it remind you of your days co

A sharp pain suddenly twisted through Ryan's chest. Ryan let out a muffled groan as cold sweat beaded on his forehead, his face going deathly pale."Ryan? Darling, what's wrong? Are you tired?" Kate asked.Ryan waved his hand dismissively, trying to suppress the sudden surge of unease. The plane was about to land.They arrived at the private clinic on the shores of Lake Guinevere, where the top-floor suite overlooked a breathtaking view of the lake and mountains.Kate quickly fell asleep under the midwife's soothing care.After Ryan walked out onto the terrace and lit a cigar, he pulled out a satellite phone and dialed the number he knew by heart.However, no one answered even after his third attempt.Irritated, Ryan yanked off his tie and instead dialed the direct line to Hurst Villa.A few seconds later, Jason's calm voice came through. "Mr. Hurst.""Where's Helen?" Ryan's tone was tense. "Why isn't she answering?""Mrs. Hurst is resting, Mr. Hurst. She might not be in th

Francis moved with lightning speed, catching the baby mid-air.He immediately backhanded Ryan across the face, knocking him to the ground."You bastard! That's your child!" Francis roared as the newborn wailed in his arms.Ryan lay on the cold marble floor, shoulders trembling. Then, he burst into a fit of maniacal laughter. "My child, you say?" He staggered to his feet, pointing at the baby in Kate's arms. "How does a bastard born from a whore deserve to be my son?"Then, he turned to Francis and Bella, roaring, "Your beloved 'socialite' daughter got knocked up by some other man! Her baby is the bastard!" Glaring at the couple, he continued, "And the one you drove to its death was the true heir of the Hurst bloodline! Helen was pregnant with my son! My heir!"Silence fell over the room. Only the crying of the newborn child broke it.Francis' and Bella's faces turned a deathly white.The Kleimann couple stood frozen, shock and regret flooding their expressions.Each of them

Three years later.The wind in Burkeen howled, dragging snowflakes along the pavement.The heavy car door was pulled open with respectful precision.I tightened the sable coat around my body as I stepped out.Arthur's arms were strong and steady as he held our two-year-old daughter, Emily Graham.Our private driver jogged forward, holding up a large black umbrella to shield us from the snowstorm.Up ahead, a hoarse voice hawked, "Handmade soaps! Lavender and rose oil—"I turned toward the sound, only to see Kate standing behind a shabby little stall.I barely recognized her.The once perfectly groomed, honey-blonde hair now looked like dry straw, shoved under a worn knitted hat. Her cheeks were purple from the cold.Her fingers—chapped, red, and raw—fumbled with a few crudely shaped bars of soap.At her feet squatted a thin, shivering little boy, no more than five or six, hugging his knees.I stopped in my tracks.Arthur immediately sensed the change, his sharp gaze landin